5:52 am. Bug's cries are getting louder and louder and harder to ignore. I sigh, throw back the covers, and head into my 14 week old's room to nurse him before he wakes up his sick brother. "Good morning, Bug", I coo at him when I arrive. He answers in his sweetest voice, and flashes me that dimple that always seems to melt my heart. When I pick him up he nuzzles into my neck, and I take a moment to savor his baby-ness. We sit down in the rocking chair and a very hungry Bug starts nursing. He drinks greedily from me for about five minutes until he starts to choke. I pull him away, but not before he starts projectile vomiting.
Really? This early?
Not wanting to ruin the beige microfiber chair, I take one for the team and let him vomit all over me. He's like a Super Soaker; by the time he's done I'm covered from head to toe in baby puke. When he's finished, he gives me a look that implies it was my own fault for producing milk that didn't live up to his sensitive little belly's standards.
"Oh no, buddy, don't start blaming me for this", I tell him, as I take off his sleep sack and pajamas. We head back into my bedroom, where Mr. is sitting up in bed, smiling at me.
"I thought I heard some gross sounds in there," he says, smiling, as I, disgusted, deposit Bug into his lap.
"I'm going to go rinse off," I reply.
When I get out of the shower, Mr. and Bug are having a great Baby conversation and I just stand there watching them for a minute. Bug is so smiley and happy, and I'm sure he's just told his Daddy about how cool it was when the puke arced in the air and landed in Mommy's eye. When I take him back so that Mr. can shower, Bug burrows his head into my neck again (he is such a cuddlebug! That's part of the reason I call him Bug. The other part is because he has huge buggy blue eyes) and starts sucking his thumb. I lay him down in his crib and within seconds he's fast asleep again.
Once again, I'm in love with my Bug.